Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/94

"It all depends," she answered coquettishly.

"On what?"

"Well, I haven't really drawn up all the specifications."

"Then I'll make them for you. The road is clear. Down the Boulevard St. Michel to the rue d'Ecole. There, on the second floor, a door is wide open and waiting. It's waiting for you, Anna." Gradually his voice sank to a hot whisper; and when the whisper sank, lips merged, hearts beat wildly. She felt his young taut body pressing against hers, forcing her flesh to cry out in an ecstasy of bliss mixed with dread as it reached the abyss of surrender. She wanted to hurl her body into the abyss, to feel the momentary rapture of his warm lips, his strong chest, his naked thighs pressing irresistibly against her passionate desire for physical fulfillment in his virility. He was tall, young and beautiful like a blonde birch that had marched out of the forest, a tree loosened from the wood of being for her to cling to, to drink its precious sap, the dark honey of a wild love.

She dared not give herself to the man she loved, because time had put a vast distance between them which only eternity could close. Even while sharing the naked intimacy of his flesh, she would feel an utter stranger to this proud Aryan. Therefore the climb to his place on the second floor seemed as distant and impossible to her as a sudden leap to the moon...

• * *

The more Eric tried to forget this intractable object of This passion, the more did her image torture him. He saw a rival for her love in all the men around him-and just waited for the day when he might find her with one of them. Then his wrath, like an uprooted oak, would crush them both. He would tear both of them to pieces, and their